


please don't bite

by cakecakecake



Series: dog teeth [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Cunnilingus, EXTREME self indulgence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Low Grade Monster Fucking, Makeup Sex, Making Out, NPCs - Freeform, POV Second Person, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Trust Issues, Wolfskin Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 07:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: stella helps foulard cope with his ptsd in a way that could only make sense for him.





	please don't bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gearstation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gearstation/gifts).



> a commission that i hold SO dear, thank you @gearstation for the best prompt i've yet been given ;; it is so fulfilling to indulge in our ocs, i hope to write more of them so i'm starting a collection. fire emblem is such a great universe to develop characters into and i'm so glad we did. i love you <3

A knock.

You don’t look up from your basin, wringing out the blood-stained cloth. “Come in.”

Timid footsteps tread lightly across the wooden floorboards, the creaking straining your already ringing ears. You heave out a sigh, exasperated until you turn to meet a familiar frown. 

"Oh -- Foulard -- "

"Forgive my intrusion," he says sheepishly, his long, bushy tail tucked between his legs in shame. “I just needed to see how you fared.”

You draw your brows together and offer a heartened smile, a tightness in your chest squeezing your lungs as you move your staff from the bed to make room for him to sit. “It's not a worry. Nothing my Daydream couldn’t fix.” 

“Stella, I am so sorry,” he strains, woeful and watery-eyed. "My senses were so thrown off back there, I couldn’t differentiate -- "

You start shaking your head, settling down on the bed. The dull ache of your freshly healed wound throbs in your thigh, but the worried Wolfskin’s face hurts even worse. “Foulard…” 

But he goes on, “It’s just that -- sometimes, when I can’t smell you, when I can only catch a glimpse of your uniform on the field, I -- "

“Foulard, it’s alright, I know,” you try to soothe him -- it hurts you as much as it hurts him to say. But he seems so determined to try to explain himself, so you allow it, feeling a sour taste in the back of your throat as you swallow.

“I know it’s irrational, but when I panic, the memories just...when I look at you, I…”

You don’t want to hear him say it, so you say it for him. “You see _her_.”

He nods, fixated on a spot on the wall. “I’m so sorry, Stella.”

“Foulard, no,” you start, “you needn’t apologize. I know you didn’t mean it, it's not your fault.”

“Of course it is,” he combats you, hushed and breathy. “I _know_ she’s gone, and I know your scent. I’ve no excuse to be confused, and yet one bad memory threatens to ruin -- "

“It’s not just a _bad memory_ , Foulard,” you cut off him sternly, “you must understand that. It's not that simple. Besides, your value as a soldier is too great to be ruined by -- " 

“I am not worried about my status as a soldier, Stella,” he says gently, turning his head to look back at you again. His voice falls quiet. “I am worried about my relationship with _you_.”

“O-Oh,” is all you can manage. You regard him for a long, quiet moment, the crackle of the fire just barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. You clear your throat. “Foulard...you don’t have to worry about me, I’m not going anywhere.”

“As much it moves me to hear you say that,” he mutters bashfully, “I hate that I keep putting you at risk. I want to fight beside you, but -- I need to fix this problem first. I just don’t know how to.” 

He sinks next to you, a comfortable weight shifting on the plush bed. Heat radiates from his fur and skin and you feel a bubbling low in your gut. You fight a grin, but it's almost hopeless.

“I think I may have an idea.”

His floppy ears twitch with a piqued interest. “Do you?” 

“Foulard,” your voice falls low and deep. “Do you remember the day we met?”

Foulard arches a brow, barely visible under the coal-black tangled mess of his hair, befuddled, but he obliges. “Of course I do...the night of the raid on the fortress. You risked your life to heal me.”

You smile fondly, remembering clearly. “Yes. But what happened right before you let me heal you.”

He shifts, scratching at his sleeve uneasily. “I...Stella, you know I -- "

“I know, I know Foulard. But think on what happened, then. What we did?”

“Stella…”

You take his hands, and with slight trepidation, guide them to your waist, holding them in place there. “The feel of my weight in your grasp...Remember?”

“I could have crushed you,” he says dolefully, with regret. “My claws closed around your waist...I nearly broke your ribs.”

“But I asked you to hold me, and you did, yes? I asked you to smell me, to recognize me, and you did, didn’t you?” 

“Your blood was matted into my fur,” he says, drawing fistfuls of your dress as he clings to you. “I focused on your scent -- like melted iron mixed with cut roses. So different, so uniquely you…”

“Exactly, Foulard, do you see?” You start to grin. “We can strengthen my scent for you, ground you with it so that you never fail to recognize me again.” 

“Stella, I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” he tilts his head, adorably oblivious. “I identify my comrades by the scent of their blood -- "

“But how do you recognize your _pack_ , in particular?” 

Foulard flushes magenta as you lift your brows. There’s a click as the gears in his head turn into place. He visibly swallows.

“St...Stella, are you sure that I…” 

“It’s not something I’ll ask of you if you are uncomfortable,” you are quick to say, but the color rises in your cheeks as you finish, “but it’s an idea I am truthfully very enthusiastic about, if you are interested. I do understand that Wolfskin navigate... _intimate_ relations in their own way, but…”

“I…” Foulard struggles, his hands shaking a bit as he takes yours. “It must come as no surprise that I’ve never touched a human like that…” 

“It’s alright, Foulard,” you assure him. “I was prepared for you to say no -- "

“I’m not saying ‘no,’” he cuts in, chewing at his lip, “I’m just saying...I am afraid I would disappoint you.”

“Foulard, this is about you, not me,” you remind him.

“But what if I hurt you somehow?”

“You won’t,” you assure him. “You won’t, Foulard. Don’t worry. You can trust me.”

A weak smile stretches across his tired but handsome face. “Thank you...Then, please, um…just let me know what to do.”

You guide his hands back to your waist, his touch searing you through the soft fabric of your dress. He hasn’t any idea of where to begin, but your heart is already leaping -- the excitement is already clouding your head. With a trembling hand, you raise your palm to his nose, nodding your head to urge him to sniff you. He rubs his nose against it. 

“You are so soft, Stella,” he mumbles, leaning in closer. You smile gently.

“Foulard, I,” you start, suddenly shy, the weight of what you’re doing sinking down on you. Words are very quickly becoming very difficult, so you opt to show him instead. You bend your head, wetting your lips before pressing them against his. He reacts so zealously, it nearly takes you by surprise. He grips so tightly to your waist and pulls you closer and you start to scratch behind his drooping ears. He makes some delighted growl and pulls off of your mouth to kiss at your neck instead, drawing out a whimper as his fangs graze your delicate flesh. Your pulse hammers under his teeth, his breath hot in your ear as he starts panting. 

“Foulard,” your voice quivers. You push against his chest, feeling his heartbeat drumming against the tips of your fingers as he leans back to stare inquisitively at you. 

“Was that not -- ?” 

“No, that was -- I just -- " you strain, hands quaking as you draw up your dress. Foulard’s eye follows the movement sharply. Your underclothes are sticking wet already. Fixated on him, you make sure he watches you as you work your fingers past the fabric, drenching them in your fluids. The Wolfskin’s chest heaves with a heavy draw of breath.

“You can smell that, can’t you?” you tease him. The sounds of your slick, sloppy wetness are making his ears spasm. Foulard’s jaw falls slack, eyeing the gleaming stickiness on your fingers when you draw them out from your panties. 

“Here, Foulard,” you instruct him, holding your fingers a careful measure from his face, the pungent musk of your arousal thick and heady. “Sniff.” 

With apprehension, Foulard leans forward, nostrils flaring as he breathes in your scent. His tail swishes to and fro as his nose grazes your wet fingers. You watch him curiously, enthralled, feeling your heart race as he moves to kiss the malleable stretch of flesh between your thumb and forefinger. He licks it, sucks at it, before taking your index and middle fingers in his mouth. Your mouth falls open in a quiet moan as Foulard tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you just a bit closer as he swirls his tongue around your digits, taking pauses only to sniff at you.

“F-Foulard,” you mewl, feeling weak in the knees, “is it helping?”

“I didn’t know,” he almost whimpers, sounding a little dazed, “humans could smell so good…”

“Foulard,” you say his name again, “please, kiss me again…”

He obliges you with fervor, grabbing your face and kissing you harshly, deeply. Almost bruising, his teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. Not enough to bleed or even hurt, just enough to make you throb in your soaked panties. You moan into the kiss, grasping the cowl about his neck, the soft thumping of his tail against the mattress keeping rhythm with the heavy thudding of his excited heartbeat. Dizzied by the haziness of your rapidly rising level of lust, you bite him back, teeth gnashing with his fangs and the laugh that erupts from his throat is striking, foreign and unbearably hot.

“Stella,” he says, growling into your mouth, “I can smell the musk of your cunt, Stella…”

Your blood thunders in your ears as you swallow thickly. “Foulard...I…”

“I want _more_ , Stella.” He demands it, but his sad brows knit together in a doleful stare like he’s begging. You feel yourself melting onto the sheets, impossibly warm. Rather than stutter out any more nonsense, you hike up your dress, watching his eye gleam as it draws up the length of your legs. He locks on the dark splotch of wetness on your cotton underthings and swipes his tongue along his reddened lips. 

“I’ll give you more,” you promise him, reaching out with a trembling hand before leaning back to lay down. “Peace, Foulard...Sniff. Just sniff, first.”

The Wolfskin swallows visibly, slowly pushing back the hood of his cowl before unfastening it from around his shoulders. One by one, he pulls at the fingers of his gloves, pulling them off with his teeth. You feel your heart jumping, watching him unbutton his shirt front, watching him watch your chest rise and fall rapidly until he finally, finally bends his head to fit between your thighs.

You suppress a giggle, fighting the tickling feeling of his furry ears against your sensitive skin, trying to focus instead on the heat of his breath against your still-covered pussy. His nose ghosts over the cotton, just barely touching. You feel the cool gasp of his slowed inhale and move to prop yourself on your elbows to study his movements. He lifts his head, eyes ablaze with feral desire; he’s almost drooling, tongue sagging from his hanging jaw. 

“Peace,” you bid him again, almost too bashful to meet his hungry gaze, and you are reminded that the man between your legs is very much _not_ a human. If you hadn’t known him like you do, you think you’d be very much afraid, but because you _do_ \-- you chew on your bottom lip. Feeling a throbbing at your core as desire swipes its slippery tongue along your spine. Chills already -- he’s not even touching you (yet). “Steady, Foulard...are you concentrating on my scent?”

“Yes,” he replies quickly, reaching to grip the muscles in your thighs. His nails are tough and long for a man, leaving pleasant crescent marks in your soft skin. “Your scent is rich, Stella, so heady and sweet, like molasses…”

“F-Foulard,” you stammer, “mind your teeth, but...if you would please…” 

“Yes, Stella?” he mutters eagerly, nosing your cunt and you ache. “What shall I do?”

“Take off my smallclothes,” you tell him, “and lick.” 

Tongue and teeth slide under the fabric at your hip, and Foulard tugs off your underthings with an eager pull, the air cool against your sopping hot and wet center. The Wolfskin is quick to warm you, shuddering through a sharp intake of breath as he savors the smell of your heightened arousal. You feel yourself dripping onto the sheets as Foulard watches the pulse of your clit, slobbering. 

“Is it really alright?” he asks your permission once more. You nod vigorously, reaching to touch his ears.

“Please, please, Foulard, pl -- "

You barely finish begging before he buries his face in your cunt. He laps at your center like a parched animal who hasn’t seen a dish of water in days. He’s growling ardently, swirling his tongue around the bundle of your nerves and then pressing flat against it, pushing on it -- he snarls. His breaths come in short and heavy, erratic like he’s trying to memorize the way you smell but wants to drown in your taste instead. Balling your fists in the sheets, you clench your jaw, squeezing your eyes shut and focusing hard on resisting your climax already but it’s so hard, so hard when it’s Foulard swallowing your clit. His pacing is too quick and his movements too harsh but you jerk your hips and pull on his ears like you’re riding his face and he loves it. His tail thrashes wildly and his nails dig roughly into your skin, streaking harsh red lines into your legs as you arch into his face, writhing at every zig-zag turn of his tongue.

“F-Foulard,” you moan, your own voice sounding so far away, “you’re doing -- amazing -- Foulard -- "

“I am?” he practically squeaks, perking his head up in a jarring motion that almost takes you out of the moment but you huff out a giggle. 

“Yes -- _yes_ , Foulard, please -- please keep going -- "

Given his nature, you suppose he’ll dive right back down to continue, but Foulard does something you hadn’t thought he’d do. Sure that you’re keeping your eyes on him, he moves to cup your pussy, pushing the heel of his palm against your clit as he darts his fingers between your wet folds. You gasp, groaning as he pumps you for an elongated moment, drawing out his digits so slowly that a line of your fluids stretch to connect them to your open cunt. He runs his wet fingers under his nose, making a sort of noise almost like he’s purring, satisfied and blissed out. You lick your lips, parting them in anticipation of what it suddenly seems like he’s hoping you’ll do.

“Do you have any idea,” he starts with a grin, “how good you taste?”

You smirk up at him, reaching to hold his wrist as he extends his hand to you. Your mouth drops open as you take all his fingers in your mouth and suck, eyes open as you watch the color rise in his neck. Foulard is trembling, ears twitching as he fixates on the way your hot mouth envelopes his sticky-wet fingers. You moan in exaggeration, delighted that you can watch his face crumble. You draw out his hand and lick each of his digits, not looking away for one single moment as you flick your tongue underneath his nails. You like the mix of your juices with his sweat. 

“St...Stella,” he mutters hoarsely, batting his long eyelashes. You flutter yours as you smile slowly back at him.

“You’re right, I do taste nice,” you tease him, leaning back to lay down again. “So don’t stop, Foulard.”

The Wolfskin needs no further direction, dipping his head back down to wrap his lips back around your clit. He presses the front of his teeth against the nub and your breath hitches -- you claw at the blankets again, thrusting your hips up. Foulard grips your hips roughly, his thumbs digging into the dip between your bones and the swell of your stomach as he drinks at your cunt. You are so much closer now, so near the crest of your climax, concentrating so hard on the heat of his long tongue and the rumble of the growls in his throat -- 

“Yes, Foulard, _please_ , please -- "

His broad tongue presses just the right way against your clit and you seize a fistful of his hair, gripping it tight as you buck into his face. Foulard holds it there, slowly applying pressure as you throb into a crashing orgasm, flooding his mouth with your fluids. He groans in appreciation, sweeping around your folds to relish your dripping finish, his hands massaging your thighs. Your muscles jerk involuntarily, the aftershocks making you squirm under his warm touch, but you don’t want him to draw back his face just yet. 

“Stella,” he murmurs from below your waist. “Was that alright, Stella?”

“Better than just alright, Foulard,” you tell him breathlessly, feeling weightless against the feather bed. “I’d no idea you could do that with your tongue.”

“It’s nothing special,” he says shyly, selling himself short as expected. You struggle to sit up, adjusting your dress, nearly forgetting about the sore spot on your thigh from the earlier battle. You gather his cowl and his gloves for him, but he seems preoccupied with something at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, my smallclothes -- "

But Foulard is clutching them to his chest, pink in the face.

“Foulard?”

“Stella, if I may ask a favor…”

You smile, heartened and warm. “Anything, Foulard.”

“If it’s alright, um,” he struggles, half-laughing, “may I keep these? To help remember?”

You touch a hand to your mouth, stifling a giggle -- an absurd request to anyone else is something so charming (and truthfully, very titillating) to you. “Oh, um -- why yes, yes, of course.”

“Th...Thank you, Stella,” he says lowly. “For everything.” 

You touch a hand to his ear, gently scratching. Watching him bare his fangs in a spreading smile. “Of course, Foulard.”


End file.
